Troll Patrol

Alt-Rt Troll Culture. I have shared this story before but...a few yrs ago, I was at an after-play reception at La MaMa. Wine, crackers, etc. There was an old white woman who was trying to pick a fight about some political issues with the cast, who were not having it. So she started talking to me about 'immigrants taking over the country'  or 'blue lives matter.' I happened to be in a whimsical mood...maybe it was the wine. She would say these things to me, perhaps trying to troll my outrage. I would repeat exactly what she said, tilt my head up as if I was thinking about it, maybe take a sip of wine, smile, and then ask her 'now do you REALLY believe that?' She would go 'oh yeah oh yeah' and add more detail. I would ask her with sincere curiosity 'who told you that?' When we got down to the foundation of every one of her beliefs there was absolutely nothing there: pure fiction or rumor or ugly old superstitions. Btw, I also saw these views gave her a sense of identity and community. Anyway, she would start to react in a cagey fashion as the questions got more and more specific. Then she would quickly switch to another topic realizing that she wasn't making sense or winning. This went on for some time as she jumped from issue to issue. In some cases she would pre-bate the argument by saying 'well you probably think (blank)' as a way to goad me. But her beliefs about me were so far off-base that I had an easy time shocking her. I simply would say 'no I don't believe that. Who told you I believe that?' I reminded her that she just made up an entire story in her head about me...when she could have just asked me what I thought. I asked her 'now how many stories did you make up in your head about Trayvon Martin? Or immigrants taking your jobs?' Her eyes widened. I reminded her that the stories in her head are just that. By this time she had gone from being a loud troll to completely meek and actually listening. I concluded our conversation with a possible overreach: I told her to not watch so much cable news. I have had conversations like this again and again with people. I'm not trying to convert. I am just trying to listen and get at the heart of hatred or rage b/c when you dig down really deep there is nothing there that makes any sense. It's the craziest thing. The world runs on this anger/hatred and not only is it illogical, but it's based on nothing. NADA. ZIP. We are destroying ourselves over something that doesn't even really work. It's like burning down a house to fight a ghost...and a ghost that's in my head. Sheer lunacy. 

Ugly Truth about Democratic Politicians

There's a Dem prez in office when a right-wing Supreme Court justice dies suddenly. The GOP first argue that they should get a conservative nominee, before deciding they won't even allow a hearing on the president's justice. The Dem prez could use the open seat as a rallying cry for liberals and progressives by nominating another female justice or a POC. Instead, Dem president nominates an old white conservative guy. A nice guy, but still very conservative. Dem supporters are confused and dispirited by the selection. Dem president has managed to not only capitulate to GOP in offering a conservative, but has split his own base. Smelling blood in the water, GOP capitalizes on this by both refusing to hold a hearing on the potential justice, and then saying they might hold one after the election if Hillary gets elected in order to prevent her from withdrawing the conservative justice. So the GOP, in effect, plays both sides of the issue to their advantage. Conversely, the Dems play no sides. They do not rally their base, they do not galvanize supporters, they try an inside the Beltway media campaign to shame the GOP. The strategy fizzles after two weeks b/c Dems do not reach out to their base and -once again- the person nominated is an old white Republican who does not inspire enthusiasm. GOP shamelessly runs hard to their base, lies about prez, lies about the Supreme Court nominee, reframes the argument, and then wins. Dems whine. Two yrs later, it's 2018 and there's still no strategy, still no rallying cry, still no attempt to inspire the progressive base, Dems react to bad news but let the GOP set all terms and rules of engagement. When a slightly progressive Dem Congresswoman tries to inspire the base to protest where ever they can, the Dems quickly divide, argue, and dissipate amongst themselves. Smelling blood in the water, GOP aims right for the weakness in their opponent's inability to speak to their base or even rally behind their own officials. They attack Dems for being uncivil, making the Dems more fearful of the GOP's wrath. Sorry, but Bill Clinton started this mess with welfare capitulating, Obama continued it, and the GOP are finishing it. Wash, rinse, repeat. One of these days someone is going to talk to the Dem party base in a plain simple message of what they want the nation to look like in the future. This person will win easily b/c the base is something Dems run away from, while the GOP builds.

POCs at the Pride Parade

The view wasn’t brilliant for Gayville that day:
The outlook was overcast, with a chance of a rain delay,
And when a Twink death dropped, and a Bear did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the throngs of thongs on Pride day.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
“If only Citibank and Fannie Mae could get another float
We’d put up money for a Chipotle's Technicolor gay coat.

Chase dykes preceded Pinkberry fairies, and the Frosted flakes,
And all the corporate hoodoo sponsors baked a rainbow cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
There seemed but little chance of authenticity getting to the bat.

But Cynthia Nixon marched, to the wonderment of all,
And mayor, though much despisèd, opened a LGBTQI ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was safe space on 8th and a swelling crop top herd.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the sight
For Blk gays and Latinxs were advancing toward the light.

From benches black with people, up went a muffled roar,
the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted Koch Bros in the stand;
"They are unsponsored and unbought" boys in no one's band.

With a smile of Christian charity great queer visage shone;
they stilled the rising tumult, and bade the parade go on;
they signalled to the twinkling twinks, and the flag still flew;
And ignored rolling eyes of Mean Girls screaming “Strike two!”

“Fraud!” cried the chiseled thousands, “Fraud, fraud, fraud!”
But a 'bitch please' look from QPOC and all were awed.
Their faces grew stern and cold, muscles popped from strain,
They knew that these Qweens wouldn’t let this ball go by again

Sneer is gone from their lip, but teeth are clenched in hate,
They pound their air with the cruel violence of the state
And now the DJ holds the needle and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Posing vogue.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The DJ is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men laugh, and somewhere drag queens shout,
But there is joy in Gayville—the POCs have not sold out.

- this is is a riff/homage/satirical take on "Casey at the Bat" I composed while eating a salad after Sunday yoga class.

HAPPY PRIDE!!

48 Hrs in DC (give or take a few hrs)

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday started off with an early-morning workout at my gym in Brooklyn, hopping on an Amtrak to Washington DC, talking to my Lyft driver and co-passenger about "The Diamond Cutter" and planting mental imprints for success, going to the popular Founding Farmers for lunch, walking up Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House, talking with the Rastafarian protestor posted up across the street from the gates, meeting up with Javier after work to check out the gospel/folk group The Campbell Bros at the Kennedy Center for a free afternoon concert, swinging over to Studio Theatre for the fantastic "The Remains," hanging out afterward with the play's co-star Maulik Pancholy as well as Ryan Spahn at Logan's Tavern, touring around the Dupont Area, going to another gay bar, getting into a 'passionate discussion' with one of the Christian proseltyzers who come to DC during Pride month to convert sinners, arguing about the meaning of the Prodigal Son story, talking about art and interdepent origination, and walking back through the empty streets of DC. Javier's dog -Jason Bourne- ate the cornbread leftovers I brought back from Founding Farmers for my human friend, but it was in a doggy bag, so....(I'll see myself out!).

THURSDAY

Two great meetings with Studio Theatre and Wooly Mammoth. That was the bulk of my day and before I knew it 5 hrs had passed by. I walked up and down the National Mall, saw the provocative/profane/raunchy "Botticelli in the Fire" at Woolly Mammoth, exit out of the theatre to throngs of Washington Capital fans and the jumbotron set out in the street, Caps win, DC wins, the curse is broken, hallelujah, and...I'm sorry, what sport is that? I met up with Javier at a McDonald's. He was playing in a volleyball tournament. His team lost so he was hanging out with his other volleyball loving losers. We came back to his apartment and Jason Bourne had ripped through the garbage. Trash and coffee grounds were strewn all over the living room. After cleaning up, Javier took Jason for a walk. I went to sleep for a few hours, got up, and left on an early Friday morning train. Back to NYC. 

Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade: Suicide and Renunciation

On Wednesday I had a quiet moment of reflection before the lights went down and "The Remains" started. I guess I was thinking about Kate Spade. I turned to my college friend and asked if he knew how special we were. He didn't understand. I explained that we have known each other for 20 yrs and we're still here. We have problems, but nothing crippling, no trauma, finances are fine, love life is ok, professional life is moving along, parents aren't crazy, we have siblings and relatives who aren't leeches or trying to create drama, we went to a great school, had opportunities, and managed not to make the wrong decisions in a million different ways. A million different decisions we made as teenagers, mostly in ignorance or by guessing or just remembering what our parents said. But we didn't really know.

My friend said he thought that was most people: that they had their stuff together, a circle of friends, and stability. I scoffed at that idea. Maybe even if I did believe that the vast majority of humanity is all right (which I do NOT) the window of good fortune in this life is so short. The time in adulthood when our shit is together and we still have a relatively young body and mind is really short in comparison to the rest of life, when things are either on the upside of the hill or the long downside. I wanted to acknowledge that because circumstances could change at any moment. Or the next decision I make in regard to finances, professions, love, or friendships could result in catastrophe. 

Yesterday was a Buddhist holiday. I was on an early morning train from DC to NYC when the news popped up about Anthony Bourdain's suicide. I arrived back in NYC, changed, and went to the gym. My trainer seemed morose. As it turns out, he was Bourdain's sparring partner in jujitsu. They had just spoken a week ago. He shows me some pictures of him and Anthony in their martial arts uniforms. I am reminded once again of renunciation. Master Dharma Rakshita's "Wheel of Knives" comes into my head. I search my phone for the opening verse of renunciation. I find a text I sent to a friend a few weeks ago during the last Buddhist holiday:

"Peacocks wander in the midst
of a forest of poison trees;
a garden of healing herbs and plants
may be something lovely,
but peacocks have no love for them-
They live off poison itself.

Bodhisattva warriors are the same:
a garden of comfort and pleasure
may be something lovely
But the warriors have no attachment for them-
They live off a forest of pain.

The kings of cowardice who pursue
comfort and pleasures find themselves
transported instead to pain.
Those mighty warriors who pursue
pain for others find themselves,
forever surrounded by bliss
by the power of their courage."

- opening excerpts of "The Wheel of Knives"
by Master Dharma Rakshita and passed on to Lord Atisha (982-1052)

Every day we are balancing on a razor's edge of good fortune and love. And I guess it makes me want to be more kind to other people because we are all there. On the edge.

Great Plays after "Angels in America"

The NYTimes posted a list of the best plays since ANGELS IN AMERICA. It's a fun thing to do because a) everyone likes lists b) everyone wants to know who made it c) people love fighting about their favorite plays that didn't make the cut and d) then everyone makes their own list to dialogue with the paper of record.

NYTIMES LIST of TOP PLAYS (post ANGELS IN AMERICA)

Topdog/Underdog 2001
An Octoroon 2014
The Flick 2013
Mr. Burns, a Post-Electric Play 2013
Clybourne Park 2010
Ruined 2008
How I Learned to Drive 1997
Seven Guitars 1996
Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 1994
The Designated Mourner 2000
The Humans 2015
This Is Our Youth 1996
Three Tall Women 1994
Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train 2000
Eurydice 2006
House/Lights 1999
The Laramie Project 2000
Yellow Face 2007
August: Osage County 2007
The Vagina Monologues 1996
Underground Railroad Game 2016
The Wolves 2016
The Realistic Joneses 2012
The Apple Family Plays 2010-13

The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity

It's a great compilation: some obvious choices, some radical ones, some plays that I almost think are there to troll my outrage (I'm not going to say which ones), and a lot of narrative experimentation. Of course, I gotta have my own list....

MY LIST OF THE BEST SINCE "ANGELS IN AMERICA"

1. Skeleton Crew by Dominique Morisseau
2. The Pillowman by Martin McDonagh
3. Queens by Martyna Majok
4. Thom Pain by Will Eno
5. Dinner with Friends by Donald Marguiles
6. Hand to God by Robert Askins b/c comedies don't get enough respect.
7. The Whale by Sam Hunter
8. Betty's Summer Vacation by Chris Durang - laughed so hard I thought I was going to pass out.
9. This by Melissa James Gibson - one of the quietest and most deceptive plays that sneak up on you.
10 The Story by Tracey Scott-Wilson
11. Fabulation by Lynn Nottage
12. In the Continuum by Nikkole Salter and Danai Gurira
13. No Child by Nilaja Sun
14. Vietgone by Qui Nguyen
15. The Hill Town Plays by Lucy Thurber
16. Charles Francis Chan Jr's Exotic Oriental Murder Mystery by Lloyd Suh - FAN-fucking-tastic. Funny transgressive, imaginative, epic, American.
17. Booytcandy by Robert O'Hara
18. Eclipsed by Danai Gurira
19. Indecent by Paula Vogel
20. Metamorphoses by Mary Zimmerman

The Drive of Hungry People

Last night I saw "Dan Cody's Yacht" at MTC and one of the themes is about that ineffable thing that drives ppl: hunger for more. The appetite almost seems to be bigger than the person. Some ppl have it and some ppl don't. I went to the play with Ghazi Albuliwi, who is a Palestinian stand-up comedian and playwright. Afterward, we went to a bar to watch the NBA Finals and talk about the work.

 I was fascinated with that idea of psychological hunger. Ghazi said that his family came from Palestinian refugee camp in Jordan. Millions of people without any legal rights to move or relocate. Millions of people just stuck in this limbo for generations. The prospects in these camps are so bleak that most ppl resort to stealing, hustling, finding different ways to rip off others. The chances of getting out of one of these camps is very very small. On a strange hunch/hunger, his father got into the merchant marines and was able to get some rare US visa 20 years ago. And his father brought him over to the United States. They arrived here by the grace of bureaucracy and the sheer hunger of a father not wanting to die in bleakness.

Ghazi said that every day in NYC he realizes there's another version of him who is still back in that refugee camp: fat, balding, with six kids, maybe working as an auto mechanic or blackmarket trader, drinking, and miserable. Every day he wakes up in NYC and he is aware that he escaped through the eye of a needle. That awareness is what keeps him hungry and awake.

It got me thinking about my own hunger and how fortunate we are to be still on the path toward something unknown, and bigger than us. And we saw that play and sat in a bar in midtown because we were able to tap into those unknown and invisible forces that surpass what our minds can conceive for ourselves.